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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/30029778">axis</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpaan/pseuds/melonpaan'>melonpaan</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Hands, discord made me do it, oops my hand slipped</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:54:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,251</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/30029778</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/melonpaan/pseuds/melonpaan</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>He’d blame retrograde something or other if he believed in such a thing, is mildly surprised that Elena does—but every so often he’ll see her slap a hand over her forehead or huff the bangs away from her face and mutter, “Fucking retrograde” before redoubling her efforts. And Elena is one of his most capable subordinates, so maybe there’s something to it.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Elena/Tseng (Compilation of FFVII)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>17</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>axis</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Something is off today. Tseng’s not sure what, exactly, but he feels it the second he steps out of his apartment and the feeling intensifies when he reaches the Administrative Research Department floor of Shinra HQ. Like the world is just ever so slightly off axis. He’d blame retrograde something or other if he believed in such a thing, is mildly surprised that Elena does—but every so often he’ll see her slap a hand over her forehead or huff the bangs away from her face and mutter, “Fucking retrograde” before redoubling her efforts. And Elena is one of his most capable subordinates, so maybe there’s something to it.</p>
<p>“Hey bossman,” Reno says, giving him a two-fingered salute, feet propped up on his desk with his chair balanced precariously on its back legs. There’s a smudge of brown on the corner of his mouth, a dribble of caramel on his jacket lapel, and a scatter of silver, twinkly wrappings littering his desk.</p>
<p>Reno is on time to work.</p>
<p>Axis, tilted.</p>
<p>He quickly retreats to his office and buries himself into work. A single sharp knock at the door signals Rude’s entrance.</p>
<p>“Come in.”</p>
<p>“…” Rude’s every step is deliberate, takes ten full strides to Tseng’s desk and hands over a stack of pristine, meticulous reports. Ah, his most reliable subordinate.</p>
<p>“Thank you, Rude,” Tseng says, then pauses. There is a sparkly, multicolored bar sticking out of Rude’s breast pocket. He can just barely make out the top text stamped in gold foil <em>85% cocoa</em>. But beyond that, the clock just above his doorway ticks on. It’s ten after ten.</p>
<p>“Where’s Elena?” She’s usually the first to turn in her reports from the previous week, and always at ten on the dot.</p>
<p>Rude blinks and checks his phone. “Must be running late.”</p>
<p>“Must be,” Tseng mutters, waves a hand to dismiss him.</p>
<p>Axis, tilting.</p>
<p>At ten thirty there’s a hurried knock at his door, three quick raps signaling Elena. She drops her stack of files onto his desk and apologizes for her tardiness, though they both know reports are due by noon. Her hair is a little mussed, though she otherwise looks the same as ever, but something is just ever so slightly off. He doesn’t realize he’s staring until her face is directly in front of his, eyebrows knit together in concern.</p>
<p>“Sir?”</p>
<p>
  <em>Hair color: Blond. But not Rufus blond; flaxen, the color of wheat.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Height: Five foot three. Technically five foot two-point-five, but she hopes no one notices her rounding up.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>Eye color: Brown. But he maybe never noticed until this moment it’s the exact shade of a rich milk chocolate.</em>
</p>
<p>
  <em>Huh.</em>
</p>
<p>“Sir, are you all right?”</p>
<p>“Fine.” He dismisses her with a wave of his hand and she frowns, nods, heads out the door.</p>
<p>Hands.</p>
<p>She dropped off her files and then kept her hands folded behind her back.</p>
<p>She leaned her face close to his, an usual enough invasion of his personal space, where she might otherwise wave her hand to catch his attention.</p>
<p>And when she left, hands in front.</p>
<p>Axis, full tilt.</p>
<p>Reno drops his files off just before noon.</p>
<p>Just what the fuck is going on?</p>
<p>Tseng quickly scans the top file and notices Elena’s neat handwriting, feels a little placated at that. Still, he’s unnerved enough to head to the cafeteria early for lunch. Spies his subordinates at their usual table, Reno flicking at Elena’s forehead, who’s swatting at him back, while Rude watches with a smile. He gets his usual meal from his usual vending machine and passes by on his way out.</p>
<p>Reno calls, “Hey, bossman! Join us!”</p>
<p>But instead of brushing them off, he nods, pivots and heads in their direction.</p>
<p>“Whoa, seriously?” Reno asks, but makes some space and grabs another chair off the table behind them, sets it in the space between him and Elena. After a few minutes of awkward silence, conversation resumes as normal, with Reno leading most of it in circles with one of his outlandish stories from the previous night. Tseng finishes his meal and notices an untouched quarter of a sandwich on Elena’s plate. Her hands are hidden under the table.</p>
<p>His chair scrapes noisily against the floor as stands to leave.</p>
<p>“Hey bossman, can I leave early tonight? Got a hot date.”</p>
<p>“You mean lurking around Seventh Heaven to make moon eyes at Lockhart?”</p>
<p>“Shaddup, Lena.”</p>
<p>“Okay,” Tseng says, heading toward the trash, despite Reno’s hushed, “Holy shit did he really say yes?”</p>
<p>Just shy of eight at night, Tseng is already tired and his head has been buzzing insistently all day. He pinches the bridge of his nose and crams his eyes shut. They’re so dry that the words on his screen are starting to blur together. He takes out his reading glasses and it helps, but he’s still tired, goes to grab some coffee and pauses when he notices blue light from a cluster of cubicles to the side. Elena’s cubicle.</p>
<p>He heads over without hiding his gait, but she doesn’t notice his presence until he’s hovering over her shoulder.</p>
<p>“Elena.”</p>
<p>“S-sir?!”</p>
<p>She turns, startled, and her hands fly under her desk.</p>
<p>“Show me your hands.”</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“Show me your hands,” he repeats, the buzzing in his head working overtime.</p>
<p>“I don’t understand.”</p>
<p>“It’s an order.”</p>
<p>She swallows, throat bobbing noticeably, before removing them from under the desk. In her hands is a small twinkly box. He knocks it aside onto the top of her desk and takes one of her small hands in his, inspecting it thoroughly. There are pink and purple bandages all over her fingertips. Checks the other one and it’s the same. She’s not on any active missions as far as he knows, and he knows everything. Except—</p>
<p>“What happened to your hands?” His voice comes out harsher than intended and she flinches at it. Flickers her glance toward the box before snapping back to attention.</p>
<p>“Nothing.” She’s lying. He glances down at the twinkly box and notices a label hanging off of it, with his name: <em>To: Tseng</em>.</p>
<p>“Is this for me?”</p>
<p>She sucks her lips into her mouth, wide-eyed.</p>
<p>“Did someone send a warning? Did you get hurt because of it?”</p>
<p>“Wha—”</p>
<p>He picks up the box before she can dive for it, wrenches through the wrapping and pops off the top lid and—blinks.</p>
<p>It’s chocolate. Smells and looks like milk chocolate. But each piece looks a little bit different, not quite factory same, even though it smells like regular, unspecial chocolate. They’re shaped like hearts. Little misshapen hearts. He glances at the wrapping and realizes his name is written in her neat handwriting. Glances at the daily illustrated calendar on the side of her monitor and clocks the date, February fourteenth. The drawing includes little misshapen hearts. Glances at her fingertips, wrapped up in pink and purple bandages. Glances at milk chocolate eyes, shiny in the blue light from her monitor.</p>
<p>He pops a chocolate into his mouth and hers parts ever so slightly, tiny pink tongue running over her bottom lip.</p>
<p>It’s regular milk chocolate, store-bought but personally melted and molded into little misshapen hearts. The picture is clear. He’s not much for sweet things, never has been, but he chews it thoroughly and swallows it down. Thick but not cloying in his throat. “It’s good.”</p>
<p>Elena pushes a strand of hair behind her ear and smiles at him warmly, lips shiny. “Thank you, sir.”</p>
<p>And his world shifts imperceptibly back into orbit.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Written for ElenaChatNoir, but highly inspired by BouncyMouse and she knows damn well why. *eyes emoji*</p>
<p>Also inspired by White Day, but it's about Valentine's Day haha oops.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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